Gasoline Sandwiches
by The Petulant Prodigy
Summary: The blue-haired anarchist held up a lit match, his smile inhuman, "Now this is what I call therapy, doc." AU OOC GrimmIchi Yaoi. Warnings will be posted inside.
1. Salt on the Tongue

**_I had told Racey I was going to commit to writing a therapist Ichigo/patient Grimmjow story, but I hadn't had very much inspiration._**

**_Then I had a dream like this and expanded from there._**

**_Also, if you review, I don't care if you're pissed that I haven't finished my other stories: I will finish them when I finish them. I have never abandoned a story. It bothers me that you think I owe you something. –TPP_**

* * *

**_Dedicated to Racey, my sammich with razorblades._**

* * *

**GASOLINE SANDWICHES**

**Chapter 1: Salt On The Tongue**

* * *

Ichigo Kurosaki wandered the semi-familiar surroundings. He didn't know why his dreams tended to morph into this kind of unrealistic landscape, but it was familiar to him nonetheless. There was nothing but sand in every direction as he walked while skyscrapers ran sideways around him, clouds falling down like they were being washed away by giant waterfalls.

Even with the absurd surroundings, Ichigo felt safe. He was a therapist: he knew that his subconscious was simply filtering in and out, in and out.

He wasn't concerned with the landscape, but his gut twisted when he realized he wasn't alone.

It wasn't often that his dreams involved his patients. However, one of his patients, a blue-haired and scarred man with a laugh that would make the devil cringe, was sitting on a wooden park bench not far from him. He was wearing an open red leather jacket that clashed severely with the blue of his hair and eyes.

Ichigo had to consciously pull his eyes away from all that exposed, scarred chest (or subconsciously? He was dreaming, after all. He wasn't sure how much function he was truly conscious of in a dream state).

Across the top of his chest in heavy, Gothic ink was tattooed _HEARTBREAKER_.

The patient's feet were bare and a cigarette dangled from his lips, emitting bright purple smoke as it flowed in lazy plumes in the space around him.

His blue boxers were covered in little yellow ducks, aviator sunglasses pushed back off of his forehead.

Ichigo approached the park bench and, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was indeed dreaming, felt safe enough to take a seat.

The patient chuckled deep in his throat, spreading his legs out further in front of him as he blew the strange purple smoke that smelled like pancakes into Ichigo's face, "What's up, Doc?"

Ichigo couldn't help but snort. He'd grown up on the infamous Bugs Bunny cartoons.

"What're you doing here?" Ichigo replied, his voice level, calm. Even though he was dreaming, his profession had always called for him to be more rational than most people.

The patient shrugged. Ichigo watched as the weird cigarette transformed into a lollipop. The patient licked it before popping it into his mouth, "Dunno. Waiting for you, I guess."

"Why would you be waiting for me?" Despite this being _his_ dream, Ichigo felt like his newest patient, a man he had only had two sessions with the week before, was more in control of the dream than he was. Wasn't he supposed to be able to control what was going on around him? Wasn't everything in here the extension of his subconscious will?

The patient leered, "Maybe 'cuz you have my pants."

Ichigo frowned before looking down at his hands.

A pair of black jeans sat on one of his knees.

The patient leaned into Ichigo, as if about to whisper into his ear, "You can keep 'em if you want."

_How does one blush in a dream?_ Ichigo thought.

"I don't want them."

"Can I have yours, then?"

Ichigo frowned again and the patient smirked before laughing.

"Ha, it doesn't matter. We both know I'm gonna get in your pants sooner or later."

_Do not encourage him,_ Ichigo's psychology degree reasoned, _even in a dream state, he is testing your authoritative limits. _

"Here, put these on," Ichigo motioned, tossing the jeans onto the patient's lap.

He shrugged, "Suit yourself, man."

Ichigo wouldn't admit that he watched his patient's ass as he shimmied into the jeans before plopping back down on the bench, still chewing on that damn lollipop.

"So, if you won't get naked with me, why am I here?" the patient finally asked, tossing his finished lollipop stick into the sand in front of him.

Ichigo watched the stick turn into a sunflower.

"How are you doing that?"

"What?"

"How are you changing things?"

The patient just smirked, exposing elongated canines. Ichigo had yet to decipher if they were natural or had been surgically altered earlier in his life, "And they say _I'm_ the crazy one. Come on, doc, I know you can figure it out for yourself."

Ichigo sat in silence for a few moments, staring out across the expanse of lonely sand, watching one of the sideways skyscrapers begin to crumble like a sandcastle.

"I don't know. I should be in complete control of this place, but I can't do anything."

The patient leaned into Ichigo, breathing on his face and chuckling again, "Idiot, you're doing _everything_. Aren't I just an extension of your overactive subconscious desires? You know, the ones you keep bottled up and pretend aren't there?"

As if to prove a point, the patient placed his hand over Ichigo's crotch, making him suck in a breath.

"I'm you, ya know. I'm whatever your subconscious tells me to be," the patient shrugged his shoulders again before sitting back, his arms over the back of the park bench, relaxed once again, "You want me here, for whatever reason. Ya coulda made me a girl with big tits, but you didn't. You made me me, a patient you've only met twice and don't even particularly like."

Ichigo was beginning to understand. Essentially, he was talking to himself right now.

"Oh."

"You should listen to your subconscious. It knows what it's doing," the patient said with another laugh, "You like this body, this voice. This everything. You like the danger, the potential for chaos."

"That's not true."

The patient raised an eyebrow in challenge, "Oh, that's cute. Really, it's adorable."

"I don't even know why we're sitting here," Ichigo said, desperately trying to change the subject. He was ready to wake up now, "This is pointless."

"You haven't even convinced yourself that I'm crazy yet," the patient said, lighting another cigarette. The smoke came out bright orange and smelled of cinnamon, "You keep my file on the top of the pile and neglect others. You cancelled two lunch appointments to try and research me more on your own. I can't believe you even got desparate enough to Google me."

"Shut up."

The patient laughed, blowing orange smoke out of his nostrils like a surreal dragon, "Face it, doc. I came to your asylum a mystery and I'm gonna leave as one."

"I was just trying to…gain an understanding of where you came from. None of your previous psychologists have been able to gain any knowledge of your childhood. Police have no records of your place of birth, or even your home country –"

"Meaningless details," the patient replied, offering Ichigo the cigarette, "None of that makes me who I am and you know it. It doesn't matter if mommy beat me and daddy never loved me. You know what I am, what I'm doing, or whatever I'm capable of, is much, _much_ bigger then that."

Ichigo fell silent, ignoring the cigarette.

"But don't beat yourself up over it. You're doing your best. That's all your mom would have wanted from you, right?"

Ichigo grit his teeth, trying to keep himself calm, "Don't talk about my mother. You have no right."

The patient sighed, staring off into the distance that was beginning to pool with soft light, "Extension of your subconscious, remember?"

Ichigo did feel like an idiot, but really. His mother had nothing to do with this path he had chosen. His father was a medical doctor, but Ichigo had always been more fascinated with psychology and sociology. He had always been fascinated with human behavior, what made them tick.

And this patient was one of the greatest challenges he had come across yet. He was a young psychologist, still wet behind the ears, but being given a patient that was rumored to be the leader of an underground violent and destructive anarchist group known as Cero was something he had only ever dreamed about. He had been taken into custody six months ago and was released due to insignificant evidence and no testimonies had been forthcoming.

He had passed the lie detector test with statements that were a dead lie, things like _"I'm eleven feet tall and eat babies for breakfast."_ The sensors responsible for reading his blood pressure and heart rate had been as steady as if he were giving a confession in a church no matter what they asked him, everything from eye color to his mother's maiden name.

Everything a lie.

His psych evaluation had revealed that he was a clinical sociopath, a master manipulator of thoughts and behavior, incapable of true emotion.

He couldn't be trusted. Ever.

He was processed as a John Doe and turned over to authorities who could do nothing but spit him out into the medical community.

No one had claimed him. No one had called the police, saying he was a son, a father, a husband, a brother, a past student. Nothing.

Not even friends, no coworkers. Just a street name, a name that was worshipped on the streets by possibly thousands of tongues as his mission grew bigger and bigger:

_Heart Breaker._

Fingerprints had been useless because his fingerprints had been destroyed long before his arrest for arson.

"Capecitabine," the patient said, grinding the last of his cigarette into his palm, extinguishing it, "chemotherapy-induced acral erythema. Probably dosed myself continuously until the pain became unbearable and I stopped. Or maybe it was acid etching solution. You know, the stuff they use to seal concrete floors. Or maybe I drank a pint of someone's blood to alter my DNA."

The patient stood up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning, "I don't care about that shit. Stop reaching in the dark, doc. I don't have patience for it."

Ichigo watched him step on the sunflower, the dry ground around it cracking and fissuring until a jukebox was there.

The patient clicked two buttons, the sound gravelly as wind whipped through the desert space.

"Icky Thump" by the White Stripes began booming from every direction, making Ichigo stand up from his bench.

"I love this fucking song," the patient said, leering at Ichigo, "We're gonna fuck to this song someday."

A city bus was approaching out of one of the sideswiping clouds, its doors open.

Ichigo took a step forward and slammed his hands into the patient's chest, glaring, "We most definitely will not, ass hole."

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart," he said, stepping onto the first step of the bus and leaning out to kiss Ichigo on the nose before tapping his own temple with a finger, "Subconscious, remember?"

The song was still playing as the bus rumbled away, the jukebox gone.

Ichigo stared at the bench, willing it into dust before all the skyscrapers fell and crushed him.

* * *

Ichigo jolted awake, his body overheated. He'd thrown his sheets off and was sleeping in nothing but boxers, but he was covered in sweat to the point his hair was soaked.

He got up immediately and headed for the bathroom, throwing himself into the shower, uncaring of how cold the water was. He ran his hands through his hair over and over, over and over, trying to shake the patient from his mind, the memories of last week's session...

* * *

He was supposed to call him Mr. Doe, but Ichigo thought he would be more successful in his sessions if he tried to create a more intimate repoir with the patient.

"Can I call you Heartbreaker? Or do you prefer something else?"

"If I had a name, I'd give it to you, doc."

"Doctor Kurosaki is fine."

"So impersonal, doc. You're hurting my feelings," the patient had drawled, his lips quirked up, ready for a massive grin.

"Well, you must go by something. Everyone has a name. How about a nickname?" Ichigo had pressed.

The patient had laughed, "Oh doc, this is insulting. We're not gonna get anywhere playing coy like this. Just ask nicely."

"Excuse me?"

"I've been through this foreplay with at least half a dozen shrinks before ya, the same monkeys dressed up in their starched collars and khakis who lean forward and project their ideas onto me like I'm some kind of big movie screen. Nah, doc: I don't like that at all. Now, if one of 'em had been a bit more honest with me, just _admitted_ that they were in this for the article in a medical journal or the inflated paycheck, _maybe_ I would've been willin' 'ta open up more."

Ichigo needed to regain the footing he had lost, had to figure out a way to make the patient at least feel as if he could be comfortable with him. They could build trust later.

"I'd like to take you through a series of breathing exercises. Close your eyes and I will count to-"

"See, that's not gonna work for me," the patient had said, leaning back in his chair until he was balancing on only two legs, his black combat boots scruffing against the carpet. His Hawaian shirt had been red and yellow and paired with army combat pants. It was the most bogus ensemble Ichigo had ever seen, but the patients who were considered nonviolent and took their assigned medications were allowed to wear some of their retrieved personal effects.

His ridiculous clothing had been retrieved from a house that had been up for sale through a bank, a squatter's paradise.

From what police could discern, he'd been squatting there maybe a month or so. Neighbors had refused questioning.

Nothing but a dirty mattress, a few porn magazines, traces of insecticide, and a couple cans of spagheti-o's.

"What do you mean?"

The patient cocked his head with a smile, "All the others sounded like car salesman, too. They must have a handbook of control questions for you guys, huh?"

"I'm simply trying to lead you through an exercise to keep you calm. How is that controlling?"

_"Close your eyes,"_ the patient repeated, staring at the credentials on Ichigo's office wall, _"Think about your childhood. Imagine yourself in a white room:_ they're all control questions. Every single one of 'em. You're _telling_ me to do something, not asking or suggesting. That's rude, doc, and I don't like rude people. Or ya ask me questions that are a _'yes'_ or '_no'_ answer. _Limiters._ Another good try, I gotta say. Narrowing my answers down, channeling me, trying to contain me. Eventually, I bet'cha could get somethin' good outta' me with that, but it's boring, doc. I don't like it."

Ichigo had been scribbling furiously for a good minute through the casual rant. Maybe the patient had issues with paranoia, or a low-level of schizophrenia.

"Do you think that's what we want? Do you think I want to control you?"

The patient laughed, "Is that a yes or no question?"

Ichigo's eyebrows had drawn together, "Do you have issues with control? Has someone tried to control you in your early life?"

The patient had licked his bottom lip, "Everybody wants to be controlled. It's in our nature, isn't it? When you're little, it's your parents. Mommy feeds you. Mommy wipes your ass. Mommy is your entire fucking world. Mommy needs to hold your hand when you cross the street because it's dangerous. You trust her, right? She provides for every need, even your safety. She has bought your loyalty. She tells you to eat your vegetables, drink milk, clean your room.

Then school. Teacher teaches you to read. Do math. You're trained to recognize a puzzle, then trained to solve it the same way every single time. But hey, they call it 'critical thinking' and give you tests where you fill in all the lil' dots, telling you it's a golden ticket to real education. Builds character, doesn't it? They sit you alphabetically, give you grades: grades that are a personal reflection of what you are capable of either physically or mentally. That's where you're divided, that's where the winners and the losers are defined. That's where you decide your life matters more than Drooling Danny in the corner, that's where you realize his blood would be more pretty on the walls then your own."

Ichigo had said nothing, his pencil falling silent. What could he have possibly said to that kind of logic?

"We're no different then the praying mantis that eats its unborn young. We're no different then the lion who stalks the weakest antelope: we see weakness and we kill it. If we can't kill it, we control it."

Ichigo had sat, a bit stunned, trying to compose his face to be one of indifference.

The patient had leaned forward and picked up the nameplate sitting on the desk, twirling it between his hands, studying the white letters on the black background, "So to answer your question, no, I won't ever let anybody control me. The thing is, I'm not weak. People sense that in me. You sense that in me. Makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?"

After that session, Ichigo had immediately begun the paperwork to have his newest patient take an IQ test.

The second appointment had consisted of the patient taking the IQ test. He was about halfway through it when Ichigo realized he was simply connecting dots in nonsensical patterns, one of them looking like a tree.

"Would you _please_ take this seriously?" Ichigo had asked.

And Ichigo would never forget the hungry smile the patient had given him, "I think you're learning, doc. I think we're gonna get along just fine."

* * *

_I don't know how long it's gonna be, but I have a feeling I won't be able ta concentrate on anythin' else until it's finished. When I get obsessive with a concept, it's too late. -TPP_


	2. Misguided Genius

_The art part in here is based off of my modern art class I had today. Grimmjow's/Heart Breaker's rant is my personal theory. -TPP_

* * *

**Gasoline Sandwiches**

**Chapter Two: Misguided Genius**

* * *

Ichigo would never admit it to anyone, but the days dragged on slowly as he waited for the one patient he was truly interested in.

The waiting had finally paid off. It was now Tuesday.

Ichigo had two-hour sessions with Heartbreaker every Tuesday and Thursday.

He'd made sure to go back through the logs and extend the hours. He was working on getting in a Friday afternoon session as well, but he didn't want to seem too eager right out of the gate. That kind of ambition would be suspicious amongst his colleagues.

So for now, he would have to be patient.

Ichigo couldn't even pinpoint exactly WHY he found himself craving the blue haired man's company. He found himself unable to focus with other patients, patients he had been seeing for months before the fashion-retarded predator had decided to invade his brain.

Ichigo had only had the one dream, but the past few days had left him restless and only able to maintain a four or five hour sleep without interruption.

It was a restlessness he had only experienced one other time in his life, the weeks following his mother's death. Insomnia had been an issue then, but that had been almost a decade ago.

He was stronger now, smarter, more resilient.

The words from previous sessions continued to spin in the back of his brain, antagonizing him.

It wasn't like he could support what the blue-haired man was saying, but he couldn't defend himself against it either. He would call it an impasse.

And Heart Breaker would call it pussying out.

The door to his office opened and Ichigo looked up, hoping his face was impassive as a burly orderly grumbled greetings and watched Heart Breaker take a seat in the leather chair in front of Ichigo's large desk. The orderly nodded to Ichigo before leaving and closing the door behind him. He'd be back when the session time was over, or if Ichigo pressed the panic alarm beneath his desk.

Heart Breaker licked his lips.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said, making himself comfortable, his legs spread out in front of him. The way he had said it wasn't snarky at all: he had just stated it as if it were a matter of fact. Ichigo tried to ignore the fact that goose bumps were raking up and down his spine. Heart Breaker was dressed rather simply today: dark cargo shorts and a red tank top, his riotous hair slicked back like he had just come from the showers.

He was just sitting there, doing nothing, looking nonchalant, and making it sexual all at the same time.

The red in combination with his hair made Ichigo want to scream. It catapulted him back into the dream world and made him swallow his saliva. Ichigo could make out the tops of the letters stamped across his chest. Ichigo had the sudden urge to rip the tank top away to see what else lay beneath.

But Heart Breaker was staring at him, his mouth beginning to form a smirk.

Didn't help that Heart Breaker's eyes were the color of sapphires dipped in super novas, the fucking bastard.

"I prefer Ichigo," Ichigo finally managed, making himself comfortable in his own desk chair by leaning back and putting his foot on the opposite knee. He balanced the pad of paper there, clicking his pen, "How are you, Heart Breaker?"

Heart Breaker shrugged. It made Ichigo swallow again. It was stupid to think about the shrugs in the dream and the one being presented to him now.

"The food's free. Can't really complain."

Ichigo scribbled a word down quickly, Heart Breaker's eyes settling on the pad as Ichigo lifted his head to ask another question.

For a moment, he couldn't. Heart Breaker's eyes were trailed on the paper, which was on his knee, which was in direct line with his groin from Heart Breaker's angle.

Ichigo could feel the redness creeping up the back of his shirt collar.

"Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?"

Ichigo frowned, "What do you mean?"

Heart Breaker leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, nodding his head in both directions, "That paper. This desk. This is a big desk, doc. Keeps you anchored, huh? Distant. King of the castle. I thought you didn't care about control."

"Do you feel like I am manipulating the environment?"

"Come on, doc. Don't play with me. You hate control as much as I do."

"Do you think it helps to put words in my mouth?" Ichigo asked sincerely, already extremely engrossed in his work. Heart Breaker had only said a few sentences and already Ichigo was ready to write a book about him.

Not to mention Ichigo had never said anything of the sort in their previous sessions. He had asked him about control, about the notion of control, but had never offered his own opinion on it.

"Oh, I don't want to put words in your mouth," he drawled, plucking a mint from the small silver dish on the edge of Ichigo's desk and popping it into his mouth, "I'd put something heavier and thicker, something a lot more satisfying."

Ichigo dropped his eyes to his paper and scribbled: _Session 3. Sexual harassment. _

Heart Breaker sighed, scratching a hand across the top of his chest, distracting Ichigo, "Come on man, listen to yourself: everything's a question. I bet no matter what I say, you'll give me another bullshit question, turn it around, make me internalize, yeah? Rule number one: never let a patient in, always deflect. Never make it personal."

Ichigo knew he wasn't gaping at the man like a dead fish, but he wanted to.

"I thought you were different," Heart Breaker said, leaning back in his chair again, "we had an understanding, you and me. Drop the bullshit Freudian foreplay."

"What do you want?"

"Not nearly as interesting," he replied, leaning forward again, face eager, "It's what do YOU want, Doc. What do you get outta this? Does picking around in patient's brains give you a hard on? It's the power, isn't it? Do you need to find the faults and flaws in others to promote yourself? Is it more gratifying than a pity party? The control: is that what you need to get off in the shower at home before you fall asleep alone and wish you'd had the balls to pursue something else, something less _stable?_ Is making me break down and givin' ya a sob story about how my step daddy used 'ta touch me what you need 'ta get you hot?"

"Stop it."

"Why?"

"You're being inappropriate."

Heart Breaker chuckled, "You're uncomfortable. It's natural. Base instinct. I'm okay with that."

Silence fell before Heart Breaker smiled again.

"See? Doesn't it feel good to be honest?"

"Why are you wasting my time?"

"How many questions you got lined up in that pretty head of yours?"

"Are we going to keep this up for the next hour and forty five minutes?"

Heart Breaker laughed, a throaty laugh that had Ichigo convinced he was the butt of some unspoken joke.

"Can you drop the control act now? You counting the seconds in your head? It's just _pathetic_, doc."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Heart Breaker seemed to study him a moment, eyes concentrated on his face, his voice serious, "It bothers you, but why it bothers you, I don't know yet."

"What are you talking about?"

Heart Breaker locked eyes and Ichigo couldn't look away. He just focused on breathing.

"Holy shit, you actually care what I think. My opinion matters to you. Why?"

Ichigo couldn't reverse this conversation. Honestly, he didn't even know how he had gotten cornered so quickly, so effortlessly. He hadn't even felt himself being corralled into the intricate maze. Internally, he was panicking.

"I care about my patients. Why wouldn't I be concerned about how they view me?"

"No, this is different. Your pupils are dilated. You can't stop moving your hands. You can't maintain eye contact with me for more than a second."

Ichigo felt like his stomach had dropped out of his body.

And then Heart Breaker said, "I can practically smell it. The sex."

Ichigo felt his heart jolt.

"Another base instinct, something you can't fake or hide. Arousal. That's what it is."

"Heart Breaker…"

"Orgasms flood the brain with endorphins, adrenaline-"

"Stop."

"…the neurons go haywire, zap zap zap right into the pleasure center of the brain…"

Ichigo couldn't listen to this.

"I'm asking you to please-"

"…and once your prostate's been rubbed, it's nothing but dick for the rest of your life."

Heart Breaker practically jumped out of his chair and fell across the top of the desk, grabbing Ichigo's hand. Ichigo's entire body jolted in surprise but he didn't have the common sense to pull away.

Ichigo watched with wide eyes as Heart Breaker licked the palm of his trapped hand.

He licked it one more time, this time slowly until his hot tongue dipped into the soft skin between two of his fingers, making Ichigo shudder and whimper before remembering himself and trying to pull away.

Heart Breaker kept his fingers locked over Ichigo's hand, a small smirk on his face, "You masturbated this morning about four – no – THREE hours ago. You didn't shower afterward. You just washed your hands. Standard antibacterial soap."

Ichigo was mortified. Who the hell did this fucker think he was?

"Get off of me!" Ichigo warned, finally tugging his arm free and slapping the panic button beneath the desk.

_Calm down. Calm down, he's playing you. _

Heart Breaker licked his lips, running his tongue over his bottom lip a second time, "You ate something with onions last night…"

"Shut _up!_"

Two orderlies came through the door and grabbed Heart Breaker on both sides while he laughed and laughed.

They wrestled him towards the door, Heart Breaker's body completely willing. He didn't struggle at all.

"Are you alright, Dr. Kurosaki?" one of the orderlies asked, noticing Ichigo's wide eyes and heavy breathing.

"I'm fine. He just lunged across my desk."

"You want to file against him?"

Ichigo thought about it. If he did, he knew it would mean Heart Breaker losing session time with him and more time alone and Heart Breaker would be eating more medications for breakfast.

Ichigo wasn't sure now exactly how sane Heart Breaker was, but he couldn't help but shift on his feet uncomfortably.

He was half hard.

He had eaten a burrito the night before. He'd masturbated quickly before coming in to work today.

What was worse, the only thing that had made him cum was thinking about the fucking blue haired bastard that had just attacked him.

"No, it won't be necessary. He was just upset with my questions."

The orderly nodded. Ichigo knew if it happened again, it would be out of his hands. Even the orderlies knew the legal nightmare it would create if it was found out they let a patient get away with something like this. Ichigo just hoped Heart Breaker could keep himself under control enough not to be labeled as a violent patient, upping his dosages and possibly even earning him a straight jacket.

Ichigo would lose the case.

He couldn't let that happen.

* * *

"You look uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable, just wary. You going to jump at me again?" Ichigo asked halfway through the next session.

Heart Breaker smiled, "Only if you want me to."

"I don't," Ichigo said quickly, avoiding eye contact.

"I like that pen," Heart Breaker said finally, watching the pen that Ichigo had been twisting on the edge of his lip. He clicked it before lowering it to the pad of paper, chastising himself. It was a bad habit. In school he had used to bite clean through pencils he gnawed on them so much, earning him a stupid nickname that took three years to get rid of.

And the last thing he needed was for Heart Breaker to get perverted again.

"Oh, are you a writer?"

He shrugged, "Not really. More of an artist."

Ichigo quirked a brow, "Really? That's interesting. What kind of art do you do?"

Heart Breaker clicked his teeth, "All kinds."

"That's not very specific."

"Does it have to be?"

"I guess not," Ichigo said, not exactly sure where to proceed from here, "Is art important to you?"

He smiled, "The idea is. What it means."

"Do you have any examples?"

"Okay. In 1990, Renoir's _Bal Au Moulin De La Galette*_ sold for nearly one hundred million dollars to a private Japanese collector: the second highest bid on a painting in the history of art, the first being a Picasso. One hundred million dollars for an impressionist painting of a bunch of French people dancing at the _Moulin De La Galette_. One hundred million dollars for a canvas with splotches and splotches of paint on it from one of the most unimpressive artists of the Impressionist movement.

What a commodity. People were losing their minds over it at the bidding. It's rare for a painting like that to be put on auction, a painting of one of the greats. Just kept climbing until it couldn't climb anymore. The winning bidder hid it away in a climate-controlled warehouse. That's when people got pissed: this prick bought one of the world's most unexplainably beloved paintings and hid it away from the world's eyes for nearly eight years. Wasn't hanging in his house, wasn't on a wall or at the bottom of a golden swimming pool, but stuck in some overpriced garage.

And people resented it. Said it was a _waste_. The man spent fucking one hundred million dollars on a painting, and THIS is the moment where they think it's a _waste_.

But that's not my favorite part. The man eventually made a will. You know what the will said?"

Ichigo shook his head negatively, wondering where the hell this story was supposed to take him and wondering how much schooling Heartbreaker had gone through.

Heart Breaker grinned, "It said that he wished to be cremated, and that the painting was to be cremated along with him. Not just that painting, but the other painting he had bought years earlier, the most expensive painting in the world, the Picasso."

He barked a laugh, "People _exploded_, totally outraged. And you know what? He said it was a joke. He didn't really go through with it, but when he did die, the paintings were seized for inheritance fees.

They should've burned with him," Heart Breaker continued, his eyes depthless, "It would've been beautiful. People have no problem with the idea of spending crazy money living in excess, but when the excess becomes destructive, then it's suddenly _crazy_. And that, doc, is the reason the world is devolving."

Heart Breaker picked at one of his nails, "What makes a Renoir any better than a six year old's crayon smiley face? Why does the Mona Lisa have armored plating and gritty graffiti gets painted over and forgotten? I wanna take a piss on the Mona Lisa. I wanna break the legs off Michelangelo's _Statue of David._ I want to eat spaghetti off of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ and cut the face of Jesus out of _The Last Supper_ and wear it like a mask*. _That's_ the enlightenment the artists never got to in their lifetimes: how to _evolve_ their art, make it more than just marble or paint, how to keep it from sitting in a musty museum crawling with overweight, moronic tourists…pigs in a palace."

Ichigo scribbled down a few notes, the ink dark on the page as he pressed harder and harder. _Time to invest in a tape recorder. _

_No, a video recorder. _

Heart Breaker sat back in his chair, "Tell you what: you put that pen down for five minutes, and I'll tell you something I've never told anybody before."

The statement came completely out of left field, making Ichigo's head snap up, his small bifocal glasses nearly falling off the end of his nose.

Heart Breaker stared at him. It was a staring showdown.

"Does it bother you that I take notes?"

"Even if it did, you wouldn't stop, would you?"

"Maybe."

"But it's a two way street, huh?" Heart Breaker said, leaning forward, arms on his knees, "I get it, doc. I'm smarter than I look."

Ichigo set his pen down, willing to take a chance. Not like he could really lose. It was only five minutes, after all, and this could be a great way to get Heart Breaker to finally trust him.

Besides, there was no way he was going to pass up the opportunity to learn something about Heart Breaker that no other psychologist or therapist had ever heard.

A full minute ticked by on Ichigo's small desk clock before he pulled his brows together, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"What were you going to tell me?"

Heart Breaker smiled, "You haven't asked the question yet."

_Shit_, Ichigo thought. _He's letting me decide? _

Too good to be true.

Ichigo closed himself off, thinking deeply. What did he want to know more? Maybe his origins? What school he went to?

No. Something much more personal.

"It can be anything?"

"Yeah."

"No limits?"

Heart Breaker grinned, "I don't have limits."

"A remarkable opportunity," Ichigo said sarcastically, unable to stop his mouth. The man was rubbing off on him already and he was barely realizing it.

His smile became wicked, "I like you, so I'm being generous. Trust is a two-way straight, ya know?"

_I like you._

Ichigo knew he was blooming red and what was worse was that Heart Breaker knew it too.

Ichigo decided. If Heart Breaker was going to take this opportunity to be this honest, it was his one moment to shine as a psychologist. Maybe in a way it was cheating, but Ichigo still felt as if he could gain one answer that would unlock the full identity of the enigma before him.

Ichigo stared pointedly at Heart Breaker, his fingers itching for his pen, "What is your birth name?"

His lips curved, those blue eyes unnaturally beautiful, "Bad question. I'll give you another chance."

"You said _any_ question. No limits."

"And I told you that if I had a real name, I'd tell you."

_Bullshit_, Ichigo seethed internally. _Everyone has a name_.

"This is something you don't want to screw up, Dr. Kurosaki," he said, leaning back comfortably in his chair, head resting on a hand, "This could be the question that defines us from here on out."

Ichigo felt utterly lost. Was he being truthful about not having a real name? Maybe there was some kind of trauma earlier in his life? It was possible: long term or even permanent amnesia was not unheard of in instances of extreme or violent traumatic experiences.

The brain was simply protecting itself, scarring.

_Scarring..._

Ichigo's eyes focused in on Heart Breaker's hand that his head was resting on, noticing how the skin of his wrist was pocked, like an old oil burn. Farther down the forearm there were white scars criss-crossed repeatedly, inch-long X's.

Ichigo fought a smile of his own as he asked, "How did you get those scars?"

Heart Breaker's smile was spreading like a prostitute's legs, "I'm not the Joker. A knife, doc. A knife made these scars."

Ichigo wanted to scream.

"I meant the reason behind them. Self-inflicted?"

Heart Breaker sighed, "They were presents. Cold steel reacts differently with skin then warm blades, keeps the skin raised even after it's healed."

"You consider a scar a present?"

"Trophies," Heart Breaker said, pulling up his shirt to expose his full chest.

Ichigo's eyes went wide when he saw the perfectly sculpted chest, the deep set of his abs. Even more startling then that were the random slash marks, the puckered scars.

His eyes ran along a massive one down his chest, like a seat belt restraint had been made out of a blade. It was darker then the rest of the skin on his chest indicating its age. It stretched from his left shoulder to his right hip.

Deep. Life-threatening. Ichigo knew that Heart Breaker had to have some kind of hospital record or he would have never survived such a cut.

The thought gave him chills.

Grimmjow lowered his shirt, staring at Ichigo.

"I'm so sorry," Ichigo said.

"Nothing to be sorry about. I'm happy. When I die, my skin will tell my story."

At that moment, the door to the office opened and two orderlies came in.

"Time's up," Heart Breaker said, standing up from his chair, hands in his pockets, "Hope you got some good notes, doc. I feel like we made a real breakthrough today."

Ichigo watched him leave, somehow knowing the man wasn't being sarcastic.

_"I like you, so I'm being generous. Trust is a two-way street, ya know?" _

When the door closed, Ichigo picked up his neglected pen and began to write.

* * *

Later that night, Ichigo stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He had used all the hot water and steamed up the bathroom. He shook his head like a wet dog before clearing the mirror with the palm of his hand and leaning on the sink.

"Just like in the movies," Ichigo chuffed, "So what do you see, Ichigo?"

Ichigo stared at the reflection of his face and didn't receive an answer.

It was healthy to talk to one's self. Everybody did it, consciously or unconsciously. The brain was a powerful thing, and Ichigo didn't feel weird at all having a moment of self reflection, especially with how his sessions had been going with the blue-haired patient.

The more he dug, the more he felt himself falling into his own hole.

_He's not crazy, he's just...different. _Society didn't constitute him as normal. What was normal anyway? _There is no true definition of normal outside of a societal scope._

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Heart Breaker was right: about control, about society's sick sense of standards, about everything.

"Hitler was a smart man, too," Ichigo argued with himself, drying his hair with a fluffy white towel, "and that resulted in genocide. Einstein helped create the atomic bomb. Prodigy artists poisoned themselves by eating their own paint."

Ichigo pulled on a pair of sleep shorts and headed out of the bathroom after dropping his towel in the hamper, ready to get some sleep.

While he was pulling back the covers, he felt something cold and metallic line up at the base of his skull and an unmistakable _click_.

Ichigo's entire body froze, his back muscles rippling, his legs already beginning to pool with blood as his body went into fight or flight mode.

His tongue felt too big for his mouth.

"Aye, 'yer 'an interestin' cunt*," the voice slithered, the Scottish brogue thick and unfamiliar. Ichigo's back was to the man so he didn't know what he looked like and he sure as hell didn't recognize the voice.

"Naw' this is tha' par' where 'ya listen oop _real_ careful-like, 'cooz I don' wanna be makin' a mess of tha' pretty carpet."

"What do you want?" Ichigo asked carefully, trying to keep his mind in doctor mode.

"A lil' birdy in 'yer cage told meh 'yer mah boy's doc," he said, tapping the barrel repeatedly on the base of Ichigo's skull like he was trying to annoy him, "I dunno why 'yer keepin' Har' Breaker in thar, but'cher gonna let 'im go. Yer gonna fill ou' tha' paperwork. Yer gonna say 'ya made a major breakthrough and tha' 'yer gonna suggest he reenter society. Dun' worry, ya' can say he still ha' mandatory therapy once a month so 'yar don' look so suspicious. I dun' really care how 'ya do it, but'cher gonna let 'im go."

"It's not my call. Even if I suggest a different route of therapy, it won't pass the asylum's board-"

Ichigo jumped as he felt a cold hand slide from behind and rest on his lower abdomen. Ichigo felt the gun move along the back of his head, through his hair, to his left temple.

"Ya don' gotta worry 'bout those cunts. We've got lots and lots a' lil' birds in 'thar. An' if 'yer thinkin' a' runnin' 'yer geggy to the polis, yer gonnae no dae tha'*."

"Who are you?"

The man chuckled and it sent ice shooting down Ichigo's back.

"Mah, we're _Cero_," he said silkily, "An' we're everywhere. Dun' ferge' tha'."

Ichigo grunted as he felt the butt of the gun slam into the base of his skull.

"Cooch doon fae tha' night." *

Ichigo felt long, slender fingers run through his hair before everything went black.

* * *

_A/N:_

_**(*):** The Last Supper is actually a fresco, so it would be impossible to wear as a mask, but it's the most famous religious art of Jesus I could think of, and I like to think that Grimmjow would make a very believable Anti-Christ figure. All the paintings mentioned are real. I thought it was super appropriate to use the Renoir not only because of it's history but also because the buyer had been Japanese. That's fer you, Tite Kubo._

_**(*):** Welsh slang is very strange if you've never heard it or aren't used to it (I'm finally used to it after reading a few novels), so I only inserted a few terms 'cuz I'm sure it was frustrating to read._

_*Cunt: can be used offensively ("you're a right cunt" or "I'm gonna kick yer cunt in") but most of the time it's slang for a common person. ("Aye, yer' an interestin' cunt." = "Yes, you're an interesting man.")_

_*geggy– mouth_

_*polis – police_

_*Yer gonnae no dae tha – You're not going to do that_

_*Cooch – it's like resting, so he's telling Ichigo to take a rest for the night._

_I know many of you may not like it, but I find the dialect extremely sexy so I think you already have a good idea of who the mysterious Cero member is. If you're a close reader and as big a fan as I am, I gave it away with one word._


	3. Breaking The Box

**WARNINGS: language, (extreme?) OOCness, drug use, violence, and mentions of sex.**

* * *

**Gasoline Sandwiches**

**Chapter 3: Breaking the Box**

* * *

The next week was mostly paranoia on Ichigo's part.

For one, he still had no idea who had broken into his apartment and assaulted him.

And two, ever since the incident, Ichigo felt as if Heartbreaker was…different.

Ichigo didn't like it. Or, rather, didn't know how to feel about it. He wasn't sure he even _should_ feel something about it, but the last three appointments over the week had been almost reserved.

Ichigo felt like he was getting to the point where he would have to seriously threaten his patient to get him to even speak a few words: he'd made no further ground in getting any sense of truth out of the mysterious man, and Ichigo didn't know how to talk to him about the mysteries and dangers of Cero, especially since Ichigo knew now that the blue-haired anarchist was involved somehow with the anti-government and chaotic organization.

In a word, terrorism. It made Ichigo's chest hurt to think of it in those terms, but really, that was what Cero stood for.

_They refuse to be governed. They refuse to have rules. No rules, no limits..._

Ichigo swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat.

_I wonder what that feels like. _

It was unnerving, which made Ichigo feel even more panicked, and in this profession, he was supposed to be anything _but_ panicked, nervous, or paranoid.

He could still feel the gun barrel on the back of his skull.

"Tick tock, doc."

Ichigo looked up from his pad of paper into the eyes of his current transgression, "Excuse me?"

Heartbreaker stared back at him almost blankly, completely relaxed in his chair in black and white checkered board shorts and a black Batman t-shirt, the bat signal tight against his chest.

"You're distracted. Something bothering you?"

Ichigo furrowed his brow, wondering why Heartbreaker was choosing NOW of all times to play with him. He sounded guarded, maybe even a bit hesitant: calculating.

Then it hit Ichigo: _Heartbreaker ordered the assault. _

They were getting information to him somehow on the inside: it was the only thing that made logical sense. Someone was leaking him information, and he was leaking information in return. Whoever this person was had gotten access to his records, had known where he lived, had studied his comings and goings from the apartment.

A nurse, a doctor, an intern, an orderly, _a mother fucking janitor..._the list could be endless.

He felt his palms sweating.

"Are you scared?" Heartbreaker continued, not blinking, "You haven't said jack shit about your unwanted house guest. Are you brave or just stupid?"

"You fucking asshole," Ichigo spit, suddenly furious, "How _dare_ you-"

"You can't hide from me, Kurosaki Ichigo. DOB July 15, 1984. Hometown, Kurakura City. You have a doctor for a daddy and your mommy died in a car accident in September of 1996…"

"Shut up," Ichigo warned, disgusted with himself and with the shit protection of his employment's firewalls.

"…two younger fraternal twin sisters, Karin and Yuzu. You graduated from Karakura Inner Public High School with full honors, valedictorian. 5'8'', 140 pounds. .."

Ichigo felt physically ill. If he had eaten anything that morning, he knew he would be chucking it up all over his office at this very moment. It was one thing to threaten his own safety, but to know such intimate detail involving his immediate family was going too far, although the information was coming out in a very random order.

"…you had a bout of pneumonia 2 summers ago. You're allergic to cats. You're a vegetarian. You hate yogurt. You're a black belt in judo and karate. Your best childhood friend's name is Yasutora Chado, and you haven't had a sexual relationship of any kind in nearly five years."

"Stop it." Ichigo was sure he had whispered it.

"I know your cell number. I know your email. I know where you buy your socks and where you like to eat out. I know what gym you go to; I know you keep a personal diary in a locked drawer in your home office, and I'll be honest, doc, I'm totally flattered that you think about me so much…"

"Stop," Ichigo said again. He felt like he couldn't move, couldn't do anything. He couldn't even feel his fingers, because this was not happening.

_This is a dream. Another nightmare. Very convincing. _

Heartbreaker continued, like he was listing off sports statistics or talking about the weather, "I know you prefer boxers to briefs and that you keep a single Polaroid of your mother in a shoebox beneath your bed. I know your credit score, your health insurance provider, your motherfucking social security number. I know you went to a juvenile correctional facility in your second year of high school for vandalism. I know you've got a hate inside you so deep and so real you've become a slave to it by covering it up with all this pretentious doctoral bullshit."

His entire life had just been dissected by a man he didn't even know.

There was a Cero member who had hacked the systems. There were probably Cero members in the building right then, just out of earshot.

_My coworkers, my comrades. God, maybe even my boss or the director. Anyone. Everyone. _

_Visitors_, his mind supplied. _Patient's visitors. _

Ichigo had checked the visitor's log a few days ago, curious if anyone had, in fact, made an attempt to visit Heartbreaker.

There had been one name about five days ago. The man had signed in at 2:12 in the afternoon and had signed back out at 2:17.

_Five minutes. What the fuck had they accomplished in five minutes? _

"Are you trying to scare me?" Ichigo finally asked, feeling a little bit more confident now. He had a little leverage, a little control: he would simply turn that name over to the police to be investigated. Legal identification was needed upon sign-in. Surely the person would lead directly to the unraveling of the entire 'organization'. Even knowing a single member would be a tremendous help.

He wouldn't go back to his apartment. He'd empty his accounts, use cash, lay low in a hotel for a while until he was sure that the Scot with the gun couldn't find him.

Heartbreaker shrugged, "You're already scared."

A beat of silence and then:

"I wanna know what you're going to _do_ with that fear."

"He _threatened_ to _kill_ me because of you. _Why?"_ Ichigo felt himself shaking as he stood up from his chair, needing the height, needing the intimidation over his patient. It was stupid, but it was instinctual male dominance: be bigger then your threat.

"Tick tock. Time's up. No more time for this place," Heartbreaker said, his eyes flicking to the clock on Ichigo's desk, "Gin isn't gonna kill you; it's whatever stupid plan for running you've got in your head that's gonna kill you. You're an injured baby bird in a nest full of vipers, doc."

"So you want me to let you out," Ichigo tried to keep his voice even, but his rage was coming to the surface, his entire body on fire, "You want me to let you out, or I die. If I run, I die. If I stay and try to _help you with your psychosis_, I die."

Heartbreaker's eyebrows drew together as he stood up, "It's like you haven't been listening to me at all."

"Stay back," Ichigo warned as Heartbreaker made his way around the desk. Heartbreaker was between him and the panic button now. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._

"When's the last time you dreamed about me?" he asked conversationally, stopping about a foot away from Ichigo who was about ready to climb up his bookshelf to avoid the blue-haired bastard's proximity, "I can't wait to get out of here so I can read that diary for myself."

"Don't touch me!" Ichigo nearly screamed, pushing at Heartbreaker's chest as he ran a hand down the side of Ichigo's face, "Don't fucking touch me!"

"You're gorgeous when you're angry," he said, trailing his hand down Ichigo's chest, Ichigo's stomach muscles tensing.

"Don't, don't, don't…" Ichigo chanted, losing his voice. He had no strength. He had _nothing. _

"If you don't want it, hit me. Scream. Bash my skull in. You're a black belt: you've registered yourself as a lethal weapon. You could do it. You could break my ribs, crush my trachea," Heartbreaker said soothingly, his voice dropping as he ran his large scarred hands up Ichigo's sides, making him shiver, "You could have me choking on blood until I _scream and beg_…"

"Stop it!" Ichigo erupted, his voice rolling out and destroying his own eardrums as he shoved Heartbreaker as hard as he could away from him, hard enough to have him slam back against the desk and nearly flip over it.

Heartbreaker laughed, sprawled out on top of the desk, breathing heavily as he cackled like an unhinged hyena.

The door to the office flew open, two orderlies going directly to Heartbreaker and wrenching him up off the desk and onto his feet.

"You alright, Doctor Kurosaki?" the tall, sleepy-eyed man asked. Ichigo wasn't even sure if he was breathing, but seeing the familiar face of his work friends Starrk and Renji calmed him slightly. Maybe they weren't close friends, but they were comfortable in conversation and in manner, Renji being a young spitfire who'd flunked out of college and Starrk being a bit more reserved yet friendly man in his thirties.

"Just get him out of here, please," Ichigo said, pulling at his own shirt collar, "Please, just, just go."

Starrk looked at him before nodding, "We'll take him back to his room, get him settled. I'll be back in a bit with the papers to file against him."

Ichigo just nodded, not making eye contact with the smiling Heartbreaker.

"Great job, you just lost your therapist," Renji nearly growled at Heartbreaker, him and Starrk dragging Heartbreaker out of the room.

Heartbreaker chuckled, making goose bumps race up and down Ichigo's spine.

"Nah, I just found him."

* * *

"Convincing, boys," Heartbreaker cooed, falling onto his uncomfortable thin mattress in his tiny room with a barred window. Even the sheets were thin and felt like sandpaper: something about it being impossible to strangle yourself with as it tore so easily.

Whatever. Heartbreaker wasn't suicidal.

He loved life: it was a cesspit of pleasure if one looked hard enough.

"Not like we could come in with guns blazing," Starrk said with a small smirk, leaning his back up against the door as Renji put on some medical gloves. It was a good cover: any passer's by would assume the orderlies were administering a drug or calming a patient down.

"What'd'you do? He was pale as a ghost," Renji added, tapping a syringe he was supposed to administer to the "out of control" patient.

Heartbreaker chuckled: generic sedatives for the sheep. He held out his arm for Renji as he swabbed the injection area, "Just pushed him a little. He's ready for me. He just don't know it yet."

Starrk's smile was slow, "I hope this kid breaks your heart. Kind of ironic, don't you think?"

"He's stronger than he looks. We've sparred a few times after work at the dojo," Renji said, injecting the needle into his own unprepared arm and breathing in through his nose as he removed the plunger and gloves.

Grimmjow raised a brow at the crimson-haired orderly, "Wasn't that nut juice for me?"

Renji's eyes were already looking slightly faded, "Well, you're the one locked up in the box, not me. Can't have you all pussy-lose now, can we?"

Heartbreaker sat forward on his cot and patted Renji on the cheek a few times, "Hahaha, good boy."

"Three o'clock," Starrk intoned, opening the door as Renji stood up and walked slowly out of the room with the plastic box of medical equipment.

Heartbreaker smirked.

Three o'clock: too early for the work day to be over and too early for security to be at its best. Too late to have many patients out of their rooms, too late for many civilian visitors.

Smart. Heartbreaker was slightly impressed.

The door was locked behind Starrk. Heartbreaker laid down and stared at the white ceiling for a while, thinking about the orange head he had found himself easily enamored with.

It wasn't often that Heartbreaker found himself particularly attracted to someone, male or female. Of course sex was sex, an itch to scratch, and when he needed to scratch it, he did. The difference was that masturbation was almost always just as good.

Heartbreaker licked his lips: the berry would be delicious.

He just knew it.

Only a few hours until the cavalry came crashing through. Heartbreaker knew that given a few more weeks, maybe less, he could have easily gotten out on his own and probably with his delicious doctor completely pliant and willing.

_That probably would've been more fun_.

"Tick tock," he whistled to himself, a mindless tune of an earlier time in his life. He couldn't remember where the lullaby was from, but he assumed some kind of mother figure.

Not that he had had a mother. A useless cunt had found him in a dumpster when he was born, his skin nearly as blue as his hair.

He'd been too young then, an infant. Maybe a month old? He didn't know, only what he could kind of remember from beatings from random faceless bitches. She'd been some kind of homeless head case. If Heartbreaker thought about it hard enough, he could remember the schizophrenic behavior.

She hadn't been the only one, those nameless, faceless, smelly shits. He assumed he'd been passed around, homeless person to homeless person, whoever had been interested in him. He wasn't sure. Nobody knew, nobody cared, only it seemed most of them thought it was hilarious he had been rummaged out of a dumpster when what the woman had really been looking for was something a bit more legally edible.

His earliest memory was his stomach growling like it was going to claw up his throat and escape into the wild. The ground had been wet. He had slept in a cardboard box with a smiley face on it. The alleyway had smelled like garbage and piss.

Heartbreaker had no idea how he had survived to childhood. He didn't know how the gypsy-like homeless community had gotten him diapers, had fed him scraps here and there to keep him alive. He didn't know how his teeth hadn't rotted out of his mouth by the age of five, or how his body hadn't warped into a useless, anorexic skeleton.

His skin had been so _yellow,_ his eyes always bloodshot. Again, he couldn't really remember, but someone had shown him how to steal food from a convenience store. Beg for money on the street. Pick a pocket. How to mark territory.

He'd always preferred heights. Rooftops of restaurants and apartment buildings where the vents kept him toasty in the freezing winters.

Bruises, dead bodies, booze, scrapes, cuts, gashes, rain, snow, sun, blood in his mouth, scars, fleas, maggots, spit, used needles, anger, desperation, hunger…he remembered the sensations and sights, but not the means. All mis-matched, thrown around, jumbled, just like a massive life quilt.

He was scooped off the streets around seven or eight. He remembered that: the police with their smoky smells and beady black eyes. He remembered the cold showers and the scratchy new clothes and the court orders and the papers, papers, papers.

He'd run away before they'd processed him, before they could stick him in a home with fake parents and fake family and fake expectations.

He was not a cookie cutter. He was not a son or a boy or a student or a pawn.

Without the processing, even with the cops canvassing the surrounding cities, nobody could prove his existence.

Nobody stepped forward. No druggie teenage mother, no soccer dad of the year. Nobody.

Heartbreaker laughed to himself: yeah, that would have been atrocious.

_To be claimed is to be labeled. To be handed an identity is death. _

More flashes of memory. Lots of red and black, splashes of white. Yeah, his life certainly was a toilet full of sludge.

Yet here he was: ageless, nameless, and _alive_.

But that wasn't entirely true. What he could remember of his teenage years before the fire, before the red-haired bastard had died, he remembered having his hair ruffled and being called a little heartbreaker.

_They'd had sex. It had been god._

_The man had laughed as they laid there, covered in cum and smoking cigarettes. He'd laughed and said that he didn't even know his name._

_"Don't got one," Heartbreaker had said._

_The man had laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners, his golden freckles so gorgeous Heartbreaker had licked them and named each one._

_"Heartbreaker," the man had said, grabbing a limp cock, "don't look so grim, kid. You can use my ass this time."_

_"What's 'grim' mean?"_

_The man known as Kon on the street smirked as he rubbed Heartbreaker's cock to hardness for the umpteenth time, "I dunno, kid. Jus' something depressing."_

_"Do I depress you?"_

_"The opposite."_

They'd had sex again and again. They'd left, went their separate ways, then somehow, sometime later, they'd run into each other again.

And Kon had called him Grim, teasing him. A nickname. A _name_. In that time he'd gone and gotten Heartbreaker tattooed on his chest with some stolen money. He'd wanted it, wanted it buried in his skin: an identity that he had earned, not been given.

Kon eventually started screaming Grim in the night, but he was beginning to build a reputation on the streets as Heartbreaker.

And then the fire and the dead people and cops crawling everywhere and Kon disappearing.

It was like being born for the first time, an umbilical chord wrapped around his neck and then loosening as he realized the world was going to be a place for him to shape.

Not to conquer. No. That wasn't the issue. It was about knowing he could break _anything_ and it not mattering.

He knew he was a man. He knew he would die someday, whether it was in five minutes from a brain aneurysm or in fifty years from old age.

He was not a king. He did not self-obsess. It's why Kurosaki was scared of him.

He refused to acknowledge glory in himself, so he saw the glory in Ichigo, in what he _could_ be, in what he _was_.

"So fucking beautiful. A perfect light."

Grim knew Kon was out there somewhere or dead. Probably dead.

But Ichigo was far more interesting on the inside then Kon had ever been. Kon had been primal, a man much like a lion driven by animalistic urges.

Ichigo, deep down, would be so much more than that.

And when he was out of here and Ichigo was by his side, before the orange head burst into tears, he'd tell Ichigo his _name._

* * *

Ichigo was jolted awake by the sound of an explosion, a big boom that rattled his bookshelves and traveled up the back of his spine. The glass in the windowpanes was still rattling when he heard shouting and shooting.

At first he was too stunned to do anything but sit up on his couch. He had dozed off on the small couch in his office after his last appointment, needing some time to wind down on his own from the earlier emotional trauma bestowed on him by Heartbreaker.

Apparently today would have been a good day to stay home from work.

When he finally snapped out of it, his office door was being smashed down by a giant man whose eyes struck fear into Ichigo's soul.

The door had come completely off of its hinges, the man solid muscle and silver eyes, a scar running down the side of his face. His black hair was spiked up and he didn't even look like he was breaking a sweat yet.

In one hand, he was holding a wicked looking blade covered in crimson, making Ichigo's stomach turn over. The man was wearing a black shirt, but he realized the darker spots and streaks must have been blood.

He approached Ichigo and Ichigo backed as far back as he could, his eyes on the blade.

He was going to die. He could taste it in the back of his throat.

The fear was stifling, even with all those years of martial arts under his belt.

"You wanna fight me?" the man said, his voice deep like a cavern, "Ya should fight me, fight me like a man."

"I don't want to fight you."

"Why not?" the man said, his smile as predatory as a shark, "We should fight! I bet you'd look good covered in blood!"

"Ahaha, Kenny, don' make 'tha boy shit hi' pants," a familiar voice sing-songed from the doorway.

Ichigo darted his eyes over, totally frozen on the speaker, the voice clicking, making him remember the threatening words from a week ago, how he could have died that night.

The silver-haired and lean man was smiling so that Ichigo could barely see his eyes. He held up a pink long-haired teddy bear with big black eyes and a pink tongue sticking out*. The mouth had red stitched around it like blood. It even had little claws with blood painted on, "Found Yachi fer' ya, big guy."

The Kenny man grunted before turning his back on Ichigo and snatching the bear out of the fox's hands, "Don't touch her. I don't want her all dirty."

"What's going on? What was that explosion?" Ichigo finally voiced, terrified but so angry at seeing the face that belonged to his attacker the volume of his voice was uncontrollable.

"Mah, jus' a wall 'er two," the man said, his accent not nearly as thick as it was before, "Cheap but effective, ya know: we didn' ha' much time 'ta prepare, so jus' a bit of motor oil, a couple household cleanin' products, and a dash'a saw dust and voila, bon appetite."

He kissed his fingertips like he had just created a delectable masterpiece, "Works in a pinch, ya know?"

_"Why?"_ Ichigo breathed, staring at the gun in the fox's hand and the blood smeared on the Ken man, "who've you killed? Why? Why are you fucking _doing_ this?"

Fox face smirked, tilting his head to the side, "Mah, 'Chigo, ya can't stay here no more. 'Yer compromised now, yeah? They'll connect all'a this 'ta ya, 'cuz yer his doc, 'cuz Cero's paw prints all over yuh…"

_"Fuck this!"_ Ichigo nearly screamed, pointing a finger at the two crazies in his office, "Fuck _all_ of you! Who the _fuck_ do you guys think you are?"

Silver-haired sighed, tapping the Ken man's arm, "Kenny, put tha' lad doon fa' a while, yeah? We can't stay here ta' long."

Ichigo clawed and fought at the massive Ken man, even placed a few powerful kicks, but the man wrapped his hands around Ichigo's neck, squeezing him until his lungs were shrieking and his chest burned.

The last thing he heard was, "Yer welcome."

* * *

Heartbreaker hustled into the back of the beat-up black van. The doors were slammed behind him by an exhausted Starrk.

The driver sped out, burning rubber as two more vans split off from him at the ramp. Silent alarms had been triggered so it was only a matter of time before the cops got to the scene, and they had to be well away with their people before then.

"Glad to see you alive and well, sir," the driver said, his large green eyes almost playful even though his expression was a mask.

"You too, Schif. Shiro manage 'ta get that stick outta your ass yet?" Heartbreaker taunted, ignoring the cut on his forehead and his bruised knuckles. Some of the security had refused to go down without a fight.

"Shut up, King," the albino growled from the passenger seat, his teeth set in a menacing grin. Grim could smell the nitroglycerin on him, "I got 'nuff juice left 'ta blow up yer own ass if 'ya talk 'bout my man again."

Grim laughed, running his fingers through the unconscious orange head's hair. The van's seats had been removed so he was crumpled up on the floor in the fetal position, angry yellow and blue marks appearing around his neck where Kenpachi had strangled him.

_Looks good on him,_ Grim mused, _blossoms of color._

"Kind of dramatic, don't you think?" Starrk mused, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, "There are a lot simpler ways to go about these kinds of things."

"But they're not nearly as fun," Grim said with a smile, stroking Ichigo's face now, "And he needed this. He needed to be freed even more than me."

The rest of the bumpy ride was silent except for everyone's breathing.

Grim continued to stroke Ichigo's face and hair, his fingers memorizing the contours of the bone structure of his face, the softness of his unruly orange spikes.

"Which bunker, sir?" Ulquiorra, or Schif, asked, his eyes on the road.

Decisions decisions. Cero had plenty of underground safe houses throughout the surrounding area, but he was feeling nostalgic. One was his favorite and one he considered his actual home considering he'd go back to it a few times a year like a stray cat.

"Las Noches," Grim said, feeling Ichigo's steady pulse.

* * *

_(*) I finally got myself a Gloomy the Naughty Grizzly at a convention a few months ago. Google it if you don't know what I'm talking about. I don't even like pink but it's the most badass stuffed animal I own and I thought Kenpachi might enjoy it and, considering it's pink, I felt like I dodged a bullet by not having to incorporate Yachiru in a very obvious, obnoxious human way. ;)_


	4. Make Me

_Listen to Skrillex's "Kill Everybody" the Bare Noize mix. I did. Some inspirational shit. -TPP_

* * *

**Gasoline Sandwiches**

**Chapter 4: Make Me**

* * *

The first thing to register in Ichigo's semi-conscious mind was how warm his head felt in comparison to the rest of his body.

The ground beneath him shook slightly, his feet cold, his muscles tense.

Another bump.

_I'm in a car. In motion. Not good. _

He blinked his eyes open, his throat hurting but he wasn't able to focus on why.

It throbbed, but he could ignore that in favor for figuring out why his head felt so warm, like he was lying on a heating pad.

_It's a leg. A human leg. _

Ichigo blinked up at the man with blue locks, a maniacal grin making Ichigo suck in a breath before screaming himself upright.

"What! Where? Wha…"

"Ain't he cute?" Heartbreaker said to nobody in particular in the back of the van, patting Ichigo on the head before he swiped his hand out and slapped Heartbreaker's fingers away.

"So loud," Starrk mumbled, his eyes not even bothering to open, "Relax, Ichigo."

"Starrk?" Ichigo said, not even knowing where to begin, his mouth hanging open as his eyes traveled over the contents of the van.

Besides Starrk and Heartbreaker, he didn't know who the rest of these lunatics were, especially the two albinos in the front, one of them with a dead face as he continued to drive like a mad man. How the man managed to stay on the road at all while maintaining such a calm outward nonchalant façade was beyond him.

And the other one. Holy Christ, his eyes alone scared the living shit out of him. The sclera were pitch black, the golden irises absolutely demonic as he turned around in the passenger seat to stare at Ichigo like he was a present under the Christmas tree.

"Ahahaha! He looks like me, don't he?"

"Don't flatter yourself," Ichigo mumbled, making Heartbreaker laugh hysterically.

Shirosaki grinned, flicking Ichigo off, "Fuck off, lil' bro."

Ichigo scowled at the young man, too pissed off to rationalize his fear of what was obviously some kind of abduction.

"Starrk, what's going on?" Ichigo finally asked, pushing Heartbreaker's fingers away from his hair for the second time. If Ichigo wasn't so frustrated, he might actually find the pouting look on Heartbreaker's face to be endearing.

But the rational, ever cool doctor part of his brain was hurrying to find some kind of semblance of control, and out of everybody in the van, Ichigo knew the most about Starrk.

Or at least thought he knew the most about Starrk.

Starrk shrugged, "I think you've figured that much out, Ichigo."

"But…WHY?" Ichigo almost whined as the van made a rough turn. Ichigo wished the back of the van had windows, but it wasn't meant to be. Wherever they were was some kind of rough gravel, not the smooth streets of the city. Just fan-fucking-tastic.

Starrk sighed heavily, like all this explaining was taking a heavy toll on him and he hadn't even said anything yet. He dipped his finger into the collar of his oderly shirt to move it out of the way of the inked skin he was putting on display. Two gothic-style 6's stared back at Ichigo, slightly tilted on their side like the Cancer symbol inside a perfect circle.*

_(*This image slightly tilted left, if the parentheses were a perfect circle: (69))_

"You know what this is," Starrk said, letting go of his collar so that the ink was completely hidden again, "We're Cero, and Heartbreaker's our originator, the beginning god."

"There is no god," Heartbreaker said with a smile on his face.

"We're trash," the dull face driving said, his green eyes focused in the rearview mirror, "If there was a god, he did a shit job molding us from the garbage."

Ichigo shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around these people, around their mission.

_You don't even know what that mission is other than anarchy._

_It's more than that._

"We're only dangerous to those who don't understand us," Starrk continued, nodding towards Grimmjow, "he gave my existence meaning. I'd follow him anywhere."

"Do anything," the demon-eyed albino added, his smile almost a mirror image of Ichigo's own. He shivered at the thought. They really did look a lot alike. It was beyond supernatural.

"Kill anyone," the driver finished, his green eyes back on the road in front of him.

Heartbreaker leaned into Ichigo, nipping at his ear, making him yelp, "I'm not a martyr, but I like 'em, so they stick around, ya know?"

"Why? You're insane. You're delusional, and I'm pretty sure you have an antisocial personality disorder…"

"Nah, you're just scared."

"Of course I am! You fucking kidnapped me! My work colleague is a member of an underground anarchist group! I have no idea where I am or where you're taking me, and one of your giants strangled me!"

Heartbreaker drew his eyebrows together before tracing the angry welts appearing on Ichigo's neck, making him shiver.

"You're right. He was rough. Deep purple. If it were me, I wouldn't have let them get so dark. Asphyxiation is an art, doc."

"You're sick," Ichigo spat.

Heartbreaker just smiled again, "Oh stop it. You'd love it. Me, inside you, squeezing your neck just so, your pants fading until your eyes roll back in your head, and right when you're about to black out, I bring you back…"

"Stop it."

"…and an orgasm rakes your body, an orgasm so strong you're crying and shaking as your cum dries on your belly, and you cry because that's the only real god in this world, doc. That's the closest to complete that you're _ever_ going to feel."

The van lurched again as Heartbreaker ran a thumb over Ichigo's bottom lip, his smirk absolutely infuriating.

"The rest of this life is just foreplay."

* * *

"We're here," the driver said, parking crooked inside a nearly empty parking garage.

"Mm, I call dibs on the 'Stang," Shiro said, opening the passenger door and hopping out without closing the door behind him.

Starrk opened the back doors of the van and hopped out himself, offering a hand to Ichigo.

Ichigo continued to sit huddled, his brain in a million directions.

He couldn't trust any of these people. His sanity depended on it.

"You don't have much of a choice," Starrk said, running a hand through his brown locks, "You know too much. If you stay, you'll be locked up with the police until you put a bullet in your own skull. We're a much better option."

Ichigo shook his head once in disbelief, staring at Starrk's tired eyes, "I thought I could trust you. I thought you were my friend."

"I am your friend. You just didn't know who I was. Does that change anything?"

"It changes everything," Ichigo argued, still feeling deeply betrayed, "What about Renji?"

"Snake Monkey," Heartbreaker said with a grin, "He's with the big guy. You can have a heart-to-heart with 'im when we get home."

"Fuck you," Ichigo said scathingly, his eyes casting death on the blue-haired devil, "I'm not going anywhere with any of you."

Heartbreaker just stared, hands in his pockets, looking positively menacing with the dried blood caked on his forehead and down his neck. It was splattered on his shirt, and Ichigo shivered wondering if it was his own.

No. Too much. Somebody else's.

"You won't stay here. You're too curious," Heartbreaker said, a grin spreading super slow over his face, "Ya wanna know what makes me tic. Nah, you're _desperate _to know what makes me tic."

Ichigo wanted to deny it, but once again, it was like Heartbreaker was able to pluck the diagnostic chords in his brain, the ones that stretched beyond scientific curiosity and into the realm of further human understanding.

_The perfect manipulator: it's positively cruel. _

Ichigo shook his head again, "Your narcissism is stifling."

Heartbreaker laughed, his hands on top of his head now, his Batman shirt riding up to expose his belly button. He was like a really fit, frightening little boy, "And your denial is absolutely adorable. You already made up your mind to come with us, so let's stop pretending now, k?"

"We could break his legs," the dead boy said, his green eyes completely serious.

Ichigo didn't like this one. His tone screamed sociopath but in a less-intimidating way. He was certainly no Hanibal, but Ichigo wouldn't want to be left in a room alone with him. Ever.

"That's a little drastic, Schif," Starrk huffed.

"Lemme do it!" the demon boy said, coming around the side of the van, cracking his knuckles.

Ichigo felt like he was going to throw up until Heartbreaker jumped out of the van and stood towering over Shirosaki, nearly chest to chest, "You won't touch him, Ghost. You touch him, even think about touchin' him, and I'll skull fuck your corpse."

There was a tense silence, neither male moving.

"Ya ever been skull-fucked?" Heartbreaker said quietly. He was deadly serious.

Shiro tilted his head from side to side before smiling to show all his sharp teeth, "D'aw, Grimm, I was jus' playin' wit him a lil'. Ya know I wouldn'."

Wait. _Grimm? _

Ichigo watched in what felt like horror as the killing and territorial aura was replaced immediately with a laughing Heartbreaker who put Shiro in a headlock and gave him a massive noogie.

"Yeah, ya wouldn'."

Shirosaki laughed like a hyena before staring in at Ichigo who felt like ice was crawling along his spine, "Aw, come on, lil' bro, I was jus' kiddin'."

Ichigo flinched away from his outstretched hand, his grin as menacing as his eyes.

"The name's Ghost, lil' bro."

Ichigo ignored the hand and scooted around the edge to get out of the back of the van, standing closest to Starrk. If he was going to be treated as a prisoner of war, he was going to stand next to the most (possibly) sane person in the group, "Don't call me that. I don't know you."

Ghost grinned, "Aw, tha' hurts. We're gonna be best buddies, ya know?"

"I don't think so."

"Ya might change yer mind once we get home!" Ghost crooned, wrapping an arm around the other albino's shoulders, the boy with the dead face, "We're the friendliest of the bunch."

Well, that certainly didn't sound good.

"Ghost likes to make stuff up," Heartbreaker said with a smirk, "Come on. We're only halfway home."

Ichigo watched Ghost and his…well, whatever he was…get into a black Mustang a few parking spaces over while Starrk walked over to a light grey Mazda and reached a hand under the wheel well and retrieved a pair of keys.

Ichigo hadn't seen Ghost with a pair of keys, and they were already pulling out of the garage at a speed that was beyond illegal.

_Are these cars stolen?_ But then why would the keys be so readily available, like they were planted?

"These are yours?" Ichigo couldn't help but ask Heartbreaker.

"Hm?"

"The cars. These cars are yours?"

Starrk started up the Mazda.

Heartbreaker opened the passenger door for Ichigo, smiling.

"Sure."

* * *

Ichigo was surprised how…normal…it felt to now be driving along miles and miles of coastline with two self-proclaimed anarchists.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious in the van for, but it had to have been hours since he was now staring at open beach and a hot-red sun descending over amazingly blue-yellow water.

Stunning. He hadn't seen a beach since…

_Don't think about it. _

Palm trees began to line the small paved road that Starrk had turned onto, giant houses and beach condos spaced sparcely apart. These were easily million and multi-million dollar estates with their own private beaches.

_No way. _

Starrk pulled into a private drive with giant white iron gates and into a lavish driveway complete with a large fountain, the mansion three stories with four double-garages at the base.

Starrk pulled up to the front stoop.

"I missed this place," Heartbreaker said, getting out of the car and slamming the door behind him as he walked up the front steps, a smooth white surface like marble, "Mm, yeah, it even smells different."

Ichigo got out of the car, unable to stop staring at the incredible space and location.

He'd expected a dungeon, maybe a cave, or a haunted castle, or maybe a nasty trailer in the middle of nowhere where they plotted and schemed into the wee hours of the morning.

Not so. Apparently Donald Trump was on the pay roll for this organization.

"How can…how can you afford this?" Ichigo almost whispered as he stood on the stoop next to Heartbreaker.

Heartbreaker grinned, "I can't."

Ichigo's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when Heartbreaker opened the front door to be assaulted by the unbelievable beauty and simplicity inside. The front hall was massive, the ceiling so high Ichigo could only imagine the echo effect if given the chance. The front masterpiece spilled into an equally-massive living area with a giant fireplace made out of some kind of sandy stone, the fire lit. Expensive-looking white couches were scattered, most of them covered in what Ichigo hoped were wine stains. Cigarette burns marred areas of the white lush carpet but Ichigo could see that the carpet ended and white marble began in the hallway that led to some kind of patio area. High gothic-style windows spilled in plenty of red-orange light from the setting sun and Ichigo could only imagine how much this property went for just for the location and scenery.

A stereo was hidden somewhere in the room because the echoing effect was being tested as strong, pulsating dub step bumped through the space.

Ichigo stared at one couch in particular, unable to look away even though all modern social conventions told him to run and be embarrassed. Heartbreaker grabbed his elbow in a steel grip, stopping him from running away anyway.

If Ichigo wasn't witnessing it first hand, he wouldn't believe it, but there it was, all laid out.

Quite literally.

"Funny, ain't it?" Heartbreaker said into Ichigo's ear, making him feel like his entire body was on fire, "An assassin takin' it up the ass."

Ichigo couldn't look away now, even though he _just had to_, for god's sake, he can't just watch the man that threatened to kill him at gunpoint get pounded into the back of a couch by his red-haired orderly.

The dub step was so loud, but Ichigo could hear the Scot cuss up a storm as Renji's hips moved faster, nearly cantering as they raced towards completion, Heartbreaker's iron grip never leaving Ichigo's elbow.

It made everything feel connected. Ichigo wanted to kill himself.

He was getting hard.

"Live porn's the best, isn't it?" Heartbreaker said, licking Ichigo's earlobe.

He felt like he'd been hit by lightning before Heartbreaker was tugging him forward towards the two oblivious boys.

"N-no, Heart-"

"Hey now, boys, you know that's my favorite couch!"

The silver-haired fox screamed as Renji's body bowed forward, coming undone at the sound of Heartbreaker's voice.

"G-nnah, ah, nnnh," the fox man mewled, arching his back as Renji exploded inside of him, his cum sliding down his exposed thighs. Ichigo never understood how people could fuck comfortably with their clothes on, but foxy still had on a black tank-top and Renji's jeans were just about at his knees, Ichigo able to see that, yes, his tribal ink extended pretty much everywhere.

"Mm, welcome back, boss," Renji finally huffed, turning his head to regard Heartbreaker, "Heyya, Ichi."

"Mah, well ain't this lush," fox face purred as Renji pulled out of him, neither of them the least bit ashamed of their performance, "Heyya, berry head. Long ti' no see, eh?"

Ichigo was trying to look anywhere but at the messy, sweaty boys. Renji finally had enough decency to pull up his jeans and zip them while foxy just chuckled and slipped on a skimpy pair of underwear that barely covered his cheeks before walking up to Heartbreaker and wrapping his arms around his waist, "Aye, welcome back, Grimmy."

Ichigo was starting to get really confused. Was this Grimm or _Grimmy_ Heartbreaker's real name? Had he been lied to in his office?

_Surprise, Ichigo. Manipulator, remember? _

"Hey, Gin," Heartbreaker said, pecking Gin on the lips.

Ichigo felt his stomach roll at the innocent action. It wasn't like their tongues were down each other's throats, but…

Gin chuckled, releasing Heartbreaker, "Mah mah, don' wanna' be gettin' the lad jealous na'h."

Ichigo felt like running when his previous would-be killer stood in front of him, his eyes open to reveal soft blue orbs, "Sorry 'bout 'da death threat 'an all 'tha. Jus' doin' my best, ya know? If 'yer Grimmy's, then 'yer like blood 'ta me new, ya un'nerstan'?"

Ichigo managed to hold in an unmanly scream as Gin grabbed his chin and pecked his lips on each cheek before patting his head and sidling back over to Renji and sitting on his lap.

Ichigo barely had a moment to breathe before the giant that had strangled him earlier came in from the hallway farther down, his face impassive. He looked wet: maybe he had washed the blood off of himself in the ocean?

Ichigo didn't want to know. All he knew was that he slid into Heartbreaker's side and behind his shoulder the second he made eye contact with the giant beast.

Heartbreaker chuckled, "Oi, Kenpachi, come say hi to my doctor."

"Hm? Doctor?" Kenpachi sidled closer, Ichigo just now noticing that the pink teddy bear from earlier was curled into one loose fist, "Oh, that doctor. Thought I killed all the doctors."

Ichigo thought he might start hyperventilating as the massive man came closer, Ichigo's nails digging into Heartbreaker's sides and making him laugh.

"Ya don't gotta be scared of Kenpachi. He's a good man."

"I beg to differ."

"Gin asked me to. I'm sorry 'bout 'yer neck. I didn' mean to," Kenpachi said, his eyes actually looking remorseful and sad.

_Has he reverted to a childlike state from a previous trauma? Is that what the teddy bear is all about?_

"Kenpachi's dangerous as fuck when he's in berserker mode, but Kisuke's changed him a lot," Ghost said, seeming to materialize from nowhere and making Ichigo cling that much harder to the back of Heartbreaker's shirt. The Schif man was next to him, staring at Ichigo blankly, Starrk not far from the front door, just walking in.

"Dinner, my darlings!" a voice rang out, grabbing everyone's attention instantaneously.

Ichigo turned towards the back hallway where Kenpachi had sidled from, but there had to be a bend that he couldn't see because the man was wearing a green and white striped apron, his blonde hair a messy surfer style, "Who's hungry for empinadas? I made them from scratch."

Light grey eyes met brown, making the blonde, seemingly-normal man smile warmly at Ichigo and Ichigo immediately felt anchored, "Ah, welcome, Ichigo. You must be exhausted from today's adventures. Would you like to join us for some dinner? There's plenty for everyone."

What else could he do? His stomach had been pinched and angry since the van.

"Um, yeah, sure."

"Great," the man said, grabbing Kenpachi's giant bear paw of a hand and tugging him in the direction of the kitchen, their fingers entwining, "I'll open the new case of wine and we'll have ourselves a nice quiet evening."

Ichigo couldn't help but think that that was exactly what he needed, no matter how bizarre the circumstances.

* * *

_A/N: If it felt crack-ish, I'm not sorry. I want them to function more like a freaky family than an organization. Feels better to me, and I tried to imagine being in Ichigo's shoes, how he would process things, and at this point, I think he's seeing it in a much more survival/scientific way and choosing to push his emotions to the wayside until he's able to break down fully. At least that's how I feel about this personality. _

_**ANYWAYS, this wouldn't have been updated without Racey. People have been fucking with her and a certain someone is copying her work and claiming it as their own. That is incredibly disrespectful and I feel like I've been personally slapped in the face. And if you're someone that allows other people's works to be taken, you're just as guilty for not raising your voice. It's worse than bullying: it's unforgivable and unacceptable. I hope that person chokes to death on a bull cock covered in open sores. I'm not joking. I'm furious. And you know who you are. You're not a writer, you're a complete coward. I've looked at and tried to read some of your other 'stories' and you're not even 10% of the writer Racey is and I think it's sick that you not only watch her work but mine as well. I feel physically ill thinking about it. I actually feel sorry for you that you have no imagination of your own, or if you do, it sucks too much even on your own standards that you have to take it and sap it away from other people, slap a new title on it, and call it your own. I don't care if you changed the 'name' or the 'location', the meat is still the same. You can put mustard on a burger instead of ketchup, but the burger is still going to be there, dumb ass. I guess what I'm trying to say is that you have no meat, no imagination, no talent, no integrity. I'm ashamed for you, which is rare, because I don't usually give a shit about people lost out in cyber space, hiding behind their excuses and their couple of hardcore reviewing fans. Really? It screams pathetic, and that's all I'm going to say because if Racey has the grace to put it behind her, so will I. -TPP**_


	5. Quick Announcement

Quick Announcement

Hey guys sorry I've dropped off the face of the planet (or so it seems). I'm not even going to bullshit you, I've been working and trying to figure out how to tackle fall since I'm graduating and have to do something with my life now, but I PROMISE I'm not giving up my fan fiction writing. All stories WILL be finished in their own time, so no worries on that battlefront.

Any who, I know you're pissed that this isn't an actual update, but I wanted to get the word out because I forgot to and now it's only in a few weeks, so I wanted to give you guys a head's up in case any of you are in the area.

I'll be hosting a MATURE fanfiction panel called "Perverts Anonymous" at Mizu Con in Miami, Florida. The con is August 17-19, and the panel will be that Saturday night, the 18th. Not sure what time yet, but I'll be at the con, so if any of you guys are near me, please come say hi. I can't wait for the panel: it'll be a really good time. I'll be hosting other panels that weekend too. I know this is the internet and people are spread all over the place, even other countries, but just wanted to share. Check out the official Mizu Con website for more details about who's attending and what's going on: it was my favorite con last year, so I know it's going to be fun.

Thanks guys and I'll be updating soon! I'm going to try my hardest to get as much material out as possible before the fall semester starts as I'll be substitute teaching brats in middle school and high school on top of weaseling my way into grad school, so hold tight! I won't forget about my stories: I know they seem to take forever, but leaving reviews like "update soon" and "you haven't updated in forever are you ever going to finish" only pressures me and makes me go do other things besides write. I'm also working on original short fiction for publication, so please avoid making me grumpy.

Thanks for sticking with me so far. -TPP


	6. Down The Rabbit Hole

_Winner of the poll by one vote. Guess what was second? Tipping The Scales, my first Kenpachi/Urahara story. Fuck yes. My dream has become a reality: I'm slowly converting you perverts to the world of this fuck-tastically brilliant pairing. Bow to me, bitches. -TPP_

* * *

**Gasoline Sandwiches**

**Chapter Five: Down The Rabbit Hole**

* * *

Ichigo had been kidnapped. He shouldn't be enjoying the food so much, but he was.

Honestly, Kisuke's empinadas were so damn good he would be willing to go through the entire traumatic experience all over again.

Wait. What?

But it was kind of true.

Or maybe he'd had too much wine.

Maybe that.

Besides, he was a grown man. Was it still considered kidnapping? If anything, the cops would either see him as a victim or as an accomplice. News stations were probably scrambling for the best coverage, witnesses, survivors, something.

But Ichigo was on his seventh cup of wine, his stomach impossibly full from the delicious Spanish food, and he didn't want to think about destruction and who might be dead or not.

Ichigo watched Shirosaki and Renji fight over the last empinada, their teeth bared at each other as they growled, Shirosaki going so far as to bite Renji in the forearm. Renji hissed, knocking his arm and elbowing Shirosaki in the mouth. Blood erupted from Shirosaki's mouth. He licked it away with a blue tongue and cackled like a hyena as he threw himself into Renji, knocking him against the table and sinking his sharp teeth into Renji's neck.

"Oh my, in front of company, little ones?" Kisuke sighed, lifting his cup of wine to sip from it daintily while the two boys continued to scrape and bite and make each other bleed, the empinada left unguarded near the edge of the table.

Ulquiorra took advantage of the opportunity, scooping it up silently and cutting it in half. He gave half of it to Gin who just smiled and kissed Ulquiorra on the cheek.

Ulquiorra's eyes fell on Ichigo as he chewed on his scavenged food, the eyes too deep and making Ichigo uncomfortable.

If there was one thing Ichigo had learned over the course of their meal, it was that these boys had no sense of boundaries. The psychologist in Ichigo had been going ape shit collecting so much data on human interaction: it was obvious these men had no concern for personal space, sexuality, or even violence.

They were just…primal. Everything base desire, complete id. At first it had scared the living daylights out of Ichigo upon sitting down at the enormous table to such a delicious feast, only to have the men acting like cave men the second they started eating. They talked, of course, but most of it was drinking, throwing, spilling. Grimmjow had even thrown his plate on the floor when he wanted more, reminding Ichigo of the scene from Thor when he threw his mug on the ground and demanded more coffee.

And Kisuke, God bless him, was like the den mother of this rag tag bunch. He might actually be the scariest of them all, considering he ate with a knife and fork, keeping polite conversation by candle light with Ichigo while all the chaos carried on around him, Kenpachi next to him, his shirt soaked through with spilled wine and harder liquors as he chewed on some rice. For some reason the giant man Kenpachi was less intimidating while sitting next to his…Kisuke.

Ichigo nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Shirosaki let out a ridiculously loud moan, Renji having him pinned to the side of the table now, his teeth scraping over Shirosaki's jugular. The hard-on in his jeans was more than obvious. Shirosaki was pulling viciously at Renji's hair, which had fallen like a river down his back, deep and crimson.

"Problem, Ichigo?" Renji finally asked, leering at his ex-work mate, his pupils blown wide.

Shirosaki cackled, wrapping his hands around Renji's neck and squeezing, "Pay attention, Monkey."

Ichigo just watched wide-eyed as Gin got up from the table, still chewing on the last of his empinada as he pressed himself against Renji's exposed back, making the red head look over his shoulder.

Ichigo knew he was flushing furiously. He was drunk enough to think about snapping a photo of such a lewd display: Shirosaki pushed against the table, scratching at Renji's chest again as Renji craned his neck back to bite Gin's bottom lip, Gin's hips pushing into Renji's ass which was nothing but black boxers.

Ichigo decided that, yes, these men had absolutely no boundaries when it came to sex.

The thought should have scared him, but instead he felt himself growing hard.

What was this? A harem?

The picture was ruined when everyone heard a thwack against the wooden table: Ulquiorra had his pale, black-nailed hand around the hilt of a sharp carving knife. He'd stabbed it into the table next to his plate, his arm tense, showing the curve of muscle while his face remained completely impassive.

"Excuse me," he said quietly, his eyes on the three boys making a spectacle of themselves, "I do not remember giving you permission to touch them, Shirosaki."

Shirosaki giggled, his body like jello on the table as Renji rocked into him, a smirk on his face as well, "M'sorry, baby. S'ok though, yeah?"

Ulquiorra removed the knife from the table, making Ichigo tense: what the fuck was he going to do with that?

"Remove yourself from him. Or I will slice you open. Again."

_Again?_

Renji barked with laughter, sliding off the sexually-frustrated albino, Gin's arms wrapping more firmly around his (boyfriend?) as he swayed back from the table, stepping into Gin.

"So scary," Renji said as Gin giggled into his shoulder.

Ichigo noticed several long scars across Renji's tattooed and chiseled torso, wondering if they were all from a defensive Ulquiorra.

So Ichigo had been wrong: some of them had a sense of possession. To an extent, apparently. Ulquiorra required permission for his (boyfriend?) to play with the others.

Maybe he wasn't drunk enough to consent to that yet.

"Aw, baby," Shirosaki whined, crawling across the table on his hands and knees until he was in front of Ulquiorra, "Just wanted 'ta play a lil'. I love you lots, you know that."

Ulquiorra stood up, grabbing Shirosaki by the hair and holding the blade up to his neck with the other.

Ichigo felt himself tense and scoot back in his chair, Heart Breaker smiling next to him, enjoying the show while flicking a lighter.

"You will be punished," Ulquiorra murmured, making Shirosaki hiss as he cut a small, shallow line along the top of Shiro's chest, right above his right nipple.

Ichigo's dick twitched in his pants.

Ulquiorra dipped his head and licked at the blood, making Shirosaki sigh with pleasure.

"Is anybody interested in dessert? How about some Smores?" Kisuke said brightly, setting down his cup and getting up from the table in his apron, "Starrk, Ichigo, Grimm?"

"I'll take two," Starrk said, stifling a yawn as he leaned into his hand and continued a text message, completely ignoring a now-rutting Ulquiorra and Shirosaki. Shirosaki had crawled into Ulquiorra's lap, who just happened to be seated next to the sleepy ex-orderly.

Ichigo almost jumped out of his seat again when he felt Heart Breaker's hand in his lap, rubbing over his erection.

He almost swallowed his tongue, his hands scraping at Heart Breaker's arm, trying to claw him away, but Heart Breaker just laughed softly into his ear.

"Dinner and a show," he breathed, nipping Ichigo so hard on the ear lobe he grunted in pain. He licked over it again as if to apologize, and Ichigo, for a wild moment, thought that he might let Heart Breaker get away with this if they weren't so public.

He still had boundaries, morals.

Why he did, he wasn't sure. He'd been with these boys for less than three hours and already felt his mind slipping.

But no. It had been slipping for weeks, even as a proper doctor.

Since high school, if he was being completely honest.

Morality. Ethics. Responsibility.

"How boring," Heart Breaker said, as if reading Ichigo's mind, but he knew he was referring to how Ichigo had pushed back from the table to escape his hands.

Or maybe he had read his mind. Who was to say at this point? Heart Breaker could read his body language, his face, like a fucking encyclopedia.

"I-I need the bathroom," he said lamely, looking to Kisuke for help.

Kisuke smiled warmly at him, "Just down the hall on your left, there." Then he was flouncing into the kitchen area, Kenpachi trailing behind him like a dog looking for more table scraps.

Ichigo expected Heart Breaker to follow him, but he didn't. Ichigo threw himself into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. The bathroom was nice, nothing to suggest a bunch of crazy people occupied it on a daily basis.

It even smelled good. Like lavender and honey.

He peed, enjoying his privacy. Flushed, washed his hands. Stared in the mirror.

Then sat on the edge of the tub, thinking about his current predicament.

He'd been _KIDNAPPED_ and _THREATENED_ and probably could've been _KILLED_ at least half a dozen times by now.

But he didn't feel…much danger…anymore.

At least, now that he could collect himself, but then again, that could be a full belly and the wine talking.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the white marble floor.

He didn't have shoes on. When had those come off? His shirt was unbuttoned around the throat. Maybe he'd done that sometime during dinner.

His belt was missing, too. _What the hell?_

"No more wine," he told himself, licking his lips self-consciously. To be honest, he could drown himself in it right now, but who knew what would happen if he did that?

The last thing he needed was to wake up, his ass destroyed from Heart Breaker. Or any of the others with boundaries looser than Marilyn Monroe's pussy.

Ichigo almost screamed when there was a thump against the door. He actually climbed into the bathtub, a safety precaution he had learned about tornadoes almost instinctually, staying quiet.

There was another thump, but it was followed by a deep moan.

Fucking Christ.

He was surrounded by some fifteen-year-old girl's yaoi fantasy.

The moan turned into a whine, a whine straddling the line between pleasure and pain.

"Shut up."

Ichigo's hands shot over his dick. It was pounding just from the sound of Heart Breaker's low order.

But who the fuck was he tormenting against that door?

Shirosaki? Renji? Gin?

Ichigo climbed out of the tub, approaching the door, unlocking it quietly.

He opened the door.

His eyes went wide. Heartbreaker had Starrk pinned against the side of the hallway next to the bathroom door, a bloody bite on the top of his chest. Heart Breaker's knee was between Starrk's legs, making him moan again.

Ichigo knew he was hard but chose to ignore it. Starrk's voice was deep and Heartbreaker was smirking at Ichigo like he knew.

"Sup, doc?" he said lecherously, running one of his hands down past the band of Starrk's pants and making him hiss.

Instead, Ichigo felt himself saying, "Starrk, are you ok?"

For some reason, Ichigo still felt a loyalty towards his ex-work friends.

Starrk looked at him, a sleepy smirk on his face. Ichigo's erection was pounding now, "M'good, Ichigo. Boss is just playing around."

"Don't look so scandalized, doc. I'm not gonna fuck him" he said, smiling wide as Starrk shuddered in his grasp. Heartbreaker removed his hand, licking away cum. Ichigo was glad he was standing against a door or he probably would've fallen on the ground. His legs weren't very strong at the moment, "I could, though. He'd let me."

"Good for you."

Grimm laughed, running his clean hand through Starrk's hair like he was trying to annoy a kid brother, "Good work today, Starrk."

"Mm," he replied, yawning again, "I think I'm going to bed. Be nice to Ichigo."

Heartbreaker smirked, hands in his pockets as he looked Ichigo up and down.

Ichigo knew he was looking at his crotch.

Heartbreaker's leer would haunt him, "Can't promise that."

Starrk chuckled as he disappeared down the dark hallway, leaving Ichigo alone with the blue-haired psychopath.

"Something the matter, doc?"

Ichigo ran his hands over his face and sighed, "Look, Heartbreaker or Grimm or whatever else the hell you go by, I'm tired. I'm tired and if you're not planning on killing me tonight, I'd really, really like to get some sleep."

Heartbreaker laughed, folding his arms over his chest, "Well, points for honesty, doc. I think I'll make a man out of you yet."

Ichigo was annoyed by that comment, but just because everybody in the house was drunk or high or fucking didn't mean that saying the wrong thing wouldn't set the unpredictable man off, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Please? I really just want to lie down."

Heartbreaker looked him up and down again, "Sure, doc. Follow me."

* * *

"So is everybody in Cero a raging homosexual?" Ichigo yawned as he followed Heartbreaker up a flight of stairs. Sometimes his sarcastic bitch side came out when he was drunk. And he was curious about the going's on of Cero.

Interesting bunch, to say the least.

Heartbreaker shrugged, "We do what we want. Sex is sex, yeah? A hole's a hole, don't you think, doc?"

Ichigo knew he was fire engine red at this point, "W-well, I certainly didn't expect everybody to be so...open about their...relationships."

Heartbreaker stopped, turning on Ichigo and tapping against his chest, "If I want something, I take it. If someone else tries to take what I want, I stop them by whatever means necessary. If I want sex, I get it. If I'm hungry, I make a sandwich. If I want a cock in my mouth, I find one. Get it? What society calls a slut I call a genius: they get what they want, and fuck what anybody thinks about it."

"So everybody just...like, fucks everybody? Nobody believes in, like, a monogamous relationship?" Ichigo heard himself saying. Why did he even care? They were all adults: if they wanted to fuck everybody they made eye contact with Ichigo couldn't stop them, but he figured emotions would have to count in at some point if Ulquiorra's knife at dinner was any indication.

Heartbreaker sighed, "Of course they can. We're still people, doc: we're just more honest about what we want. Ghost and Schif have been together forever. Do they love each other? Yeah. Do they fuck other people? When they want to. Same with Renji and Gin. Did you see Kisuke fucking everybody in the room? No, 'cuz he chooses not to. He's dedicated to Kenpachi, and Kenpachi to him. Did I fuck Starrk? No, but he was horny and I offered a hand. Do I wanna fuck Starrk? No, I wanna fuck you. Get it?"

Ichigo opened and closed his mouth a few times. It shouldn't surprise him by this point how straightforward Heartbreaker was, but still, shouldn't he be at least a little embarrassed?

Not that Ichigo's dick was complaining.

"So what? Morality is merely a matter of circumstance?" Ichigo said in a last ditch effort to effectively understand how Heartbreaker viewed relationships.

"Couldn't have said it better myself, doc. We're taught ethics, morals, from the time we're small, but we don't have to believe in them, or follow them. We don't have to accept them. Hell, the only reason you have 'em in the first place is because somebody sat you down and taught you them, or beat them into you. 'Cuz that's what society does: it tells you what's acceptable, what's not. What's normal, what's irrational. They're there, little guidelines for the blind, stupid sheep. You don't learn that shit on your own, it's forced onto you, shoved down your throat until it's ingrained in your mind, your body. It's what makes you stay quiet when you enter a doctor's waiting room, a library, a classroom on the first day of school. It's what makes you wait in line for hours at a theme park. It's what makes you buy flowers and dinner for a girl you want to fuck. Stupid, stupid, _boring_ guidelines."

He leaned into Ichigo, making him shiver as he talked into his ear, "So fuck ethics and fuck your morality: they don't mean shit to me."

Then Heartbreaker turned around and continued up the stairs, the conversation apparently over.

Ichigo was surprised to be led to the third floor of the mansion. Heartbreaker kicked a slightly-open door all the way open, walking in with his hands in his pockets. Ichigo wanted to whistle at the size of the room with giant windows looking out over a now-dark ocean, the moon out and gorgeous.

It would probably be dazzling when he woke up in the morning.

The bed was a king, and that's all he cared about as his body finally caught up with how tired his brain was. He felt achy all over, and his neck still hurt even after all the booze.

The room looked untouched, like a hotel room. Surprising considering the state of the rest of the house.

"You can sleep here. Or anywhere. It doesn't matter," Heartbreaker said, cracking his neck, "It's the only room in the house that still has a lock, so take advantage of it."

Ichigo drew his eyebrows together, "What? That doesn't seem very safe."

Heartbreaker laughed, turning towards Ichigo, "What part of having no boundaries don't you get, doc? You still have them though, so I can respect that. For now, at least. Nothing belongs to anybody in this house, so I suggest you lock up when I leave."

Ichigo swallowed, not sure how far that threat extended. It could be as innocent as a hippie's version of a homeless shelter, where just anybody could walk in and crash anywhere, like a haven for the lost. Where food was shared, love for everybody.

Or it could mean rape. If nothing belonged to anybody, then bodies and consent didn't matter either, did they?

Then again, why wasn't Ichigo gagged and stuffed in a closet somewhere? Weren't they worried about him escaping? Running? Calling for help? Fuck, he could pick up a phone and have the cops here in minutes, couldn't he?

Heartbreaker leaned against a fancy wood dresser, "We don't have a land line. Some of 'em carry cell phones, but you'll have to perform some pretty big favors to pull that off, doc. As for running, well, like I said, there's no locks anywhere else in the house, but I'm not promising somebody isn't watching."

Ichigo was getting tired at the ease in which Heartbreaker seemed to know what he was thinking. He had thought with all his training in psychology he had developed a good poker face for patients. Apparently Heartbreaker was out to break that part of Ichigo's psyche too. Ichigo's eyes flickered around the room as if expecting to see big security cameras watching him.

Heartbreaker grinned, "My goal isn't to babysit you. If you want to go, go, but there's other Cero you haven't met yet. This property is the biggest, and a lot of us crash here. I can't promise your safety, so, there you go, doc: how does it feel to be in charge of your own lock and key?"

Ichigo didn't know if he wanted to punch Heart Breaker or get on his knees and cry. It was…it was so…strange. His doctor brain scrambled to make some semblance of reason, of order.

This was the strangest attempt at Stockholm Syndrome he had ever seen. His abductor making him feel as if he held his freedom in his own hands. Not only that, he was being uncharacteristically reasonable.

He wasn't saying to stay, but he wasn't saying to go, either.

He was giving Ichigo freedom of choice.

He was being honest. Truly, truly honest. It was…refreshing.

To hear honesty and believe it…well, Ichigo barely ever felt that way. People always had agendas, secrets: Heart Breaker's voice was placid, no hint of malice or lust or ill intent.

He sounded almost bored. Even his body language was conveying that, which was lulling Ichigo into a false sense of security.

Then again, if Heartbreaker was trying to make Ichigo a compliant hostage, his attempt at offering safety in a locked room was another way in which the anarchist could earn the doctor's trust.

It was making Ichigo feel like he was going in circles, but he knew, just knew that Heartbreaker wasn't fucking with him right now.

If he ran, he was responsible for himself. Anything could happen. It was an obvious challenge.

But if he stayed…he was also in charge of himself and anything could happen. Free to wander, or to stay locked away. To think as much as he wanted, or to go wherever he pleased. To get in the fetal position and starve or to fight with other free men for the last empinada. He could lock the door and cry in the soft-looking sheets, or he could fuck Grimmjow into the headboard, raking his nails over all that scarred flesh.

To leave or stay: Ichigo didn't know which option scared him more.

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Heartbreaker said, suddenly close enough to Ichigo to run his hand over the side of his face, down the side of his neck, "To choose, to have choice. Be your own man, to fuck the rules. It's almost better than sex."

Ichigo took a deep breath, trying to ignore how good Heart Breaker's calloused fingers felt against his warm neck, his cheekbone.

And all that wine…Ichigo was so, so tired of thinking.

Ichigo scrubbed at his face with his hands again, wishing this was all just a horrible nightmare and he'd wake up on his couch surrounded by patient files and empty coffee mugs.

Ichigo pushed Heartbreaker's hands away, instantly regretting it when Heartbreaker just smiled at him.

Why did he care? He didn't want him touching him anyway, but…but Heartbreaker was supposed to fight him, wasn't he?

Heartbreaker licked his bottom lip, "Sweet dreams, doc."

Ichigo watched him head towards the door, "Sleep tight, don't let the bed. Bugs. _Bite."_

The door clicked shut quietly, a whisper.

Ichigo stared at the knob.

He heard Heartbreaker whistling to himself, a lullaby-like tune as he drifted down the hallway.

Ichigo touched the door, his heart pounding.

_"It's exciting, isn't it?"_

Ichigo pressed his whole body up against the door.

It took him much longer than it should have to flick the lock into place.


End file.
